The scanner gave two brief, muted beeps.
Vance’s brow furrowed. He shone a narrow flashlight along the rubber seam of the cabin inspection panel behind the life-vest cradle.
“There is an active transmitter here,” Vance said softly. “It isn’t commercial airline equipment. It’s an auxiliary beacon wired directly into the seat’s maintenance power tap.”
Elizabeth gasps quietly, covering her mouth.
“Someone accessed that compartment during the turnaround in New York? The maintenance crew had thirty minutes between arrival and boarding.”
“It takes three minutes if you have an authorized badge,” Marcus observed, his expression turning to stone. “Someone planned this knowing Zara flew this flight every month to visit her academy.”
Zara leaned forward from 1A.
“Dad, that beacon… was it tracking my bag, or was it listening to the forward communication circuit behind the bulkhead wall?”
Marcus looked at his daughter with quiet admiration. Her analytical mind had spotted the true target instantly. The burgundy bag was a decoy; the seat itself was the intercept.
